


not the wind that wakes with the day

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awake The Snake, Breakfast, Crowley wakes up, Friendship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: It's July, and Crowley's alarm has gone off.*Obviously* Aziraphale is there with breakfast.(Can be read as a romantic or platonic relationship)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 99





	not the wind that wakes with the day

**Author's Note:**

> Happy end of nap, Crowley! I'm very jealous that you got to sleep the last few months away.
> 
> Title is from Alfred Noyes' At Dawn.

Crowley reached over and, on his third try, turned the alarm clock off.

His nose twitched.

A tiny, forked tongue darted out of his mouth. Then again.

Eggs.

Bacon.

Tea.

_Marmalade._

Crowley almost wished he could be surprised, but he wasn't. He slightly wondered what it would be like to be frightened of an intruder, but he had wards seventeen deep to keep out  _anyone_ – minus one angel, of course. He hadn't constructed them that way, but after he'd wandered out of bed one morning in only a pair of pants and a miracled cup of coffee to find Aziraphale had let himself in and was casually reading Donne aloud to his plants, he figured it out quickish. 

There had been some screaming and spilled coffee, mind. From both of them. But the ferns knew better than to be affected by such things, and soon coffee was restored, and Crowley put on a pair of trousers, and generally found himself to be not terribly surprised that Aziraphale had been able to stroll in without so much as a key.

He pulled his mind back to the present. Right. July 1 st , 2020. Morning, since the angel was breakfasting. Time to get up and see how the world was doing.

Crowley yawned and dragged himself off of the ceiling, took a brief moment to make sure he was decent, and stumbled out of his bedroom, wiping sleep from his eyes. Apparently the Sandman visited demon and human alike. And also apparently he hadn't removed his eyeliner as perfectly as he'd thought, ecch.

“Morning, angel,” he called, dragging his feet into the little nook that had appeared after the first time Aziraphale showed up. It held a cafe table and two chairs, and was flanked on low shelves by the orchids with the most advanced Stockholm Syndrome. Crowley squinted, and found that a stunning ikebana arrangement graced the window, now. “'Zat for me?” he mumbled, surprised.

“Of course, my dear. Thought a little wake-up gift was in order. Will you join me? Tea's hot.”

Aziraphale hadn't changed a single molecule, bless him. Of course he wouldn't, he'd barely bought new  _underwear_ since 1845. 

Exceedingly grateful for one constant in his world, Crowley dropped into the empty chair and accepted the piping-hot cup of English Breakfast, scalding his tongue on the first sip as was traditional. “How's...things?” he asked, waving his hand to take in the world.

Aziraphale sighed, and looked his age for a moment.

“Oh no,” Crowley said.

“There are still...lights in the darkness, my dear,” Aziraphale said carefully, and he even managed a rather brave little smile. “A number of them, really. It. It could be worse.”

“Mnehh.” Crowley took another sip of tea, and his hair arranged itself neatly. “'member in the fourteenth century? How people fled?”

“Oh! Well, yes. There has been...a little of that going around. But there's, well, not much to flee _to_.”

“No, no,” Crowley said, waving his hand. “I meant, us.” He squinted. “Wait, why are _you_ breaking quarantine?”

“Oh! Well. I'm allowed to. I mean, the rules allow for us to...spend time together, now.” Aziraphale shook his head. “And you know we can't leave for Scotland.”

“Mmm, s'pose not,” Crowley said contemplatively. He didn't really want to. Unless the angel wanted to. But he didn't want to either. So London it was. “Wouldn't be the done thing and all.”

“Quite. And, well. Feels a bit right. To ride it out here.”

Crowley shrugged, as close to a whole-hearted agreement as Aziraphale would ever get out of him. “Do any good miracles while I was asleep?”

“Oh, no! I rather hunkered down. I baked a good bit, mind.” Aziraphale paused in thought, and smiled. “Well, one miracle. The churros got a bit, well, the oil you cook them in, you know, it gets quite hot --”

Crowley winced. Flames were still a sensitive topic.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” Aziraphale said gently. “All is well with me, dear boy. Bit rounder, perhaps, a bit more well-read, you know me, no real changes ever.”

Crowley looked at the angel who had thrown away his side, who had broken through abuse and brainwashing and his own deep-seated fears. Took in the sight of the fussy being who was his hereditary enemy (former) and best friend (since the world was not quite a week old), and who was the other half of  _their side_ .

“Quite,” he said, and eyed up some toast and marmalade. “Is that for me?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, kindly slathering the toast with a generous layer, while Crowley settled in. Best to stay awake now, after all. Never knew when there might be a call for demon-ing, and Aziraphale _had_ admitted to a miracle while Crowley was asleep. Absolutely better to stay awake and balance out any future angelic workings. And he _did_ still have a case of a lovely Spanish red they ought to work their way through...

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com.


End file.
